


The Forgotten One

by SaraWinters



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: The Calling
Genre: Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6306355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraWinters/pseuds/SaraWinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For over twenty years, Arl Eamon has been tasked with keeping Alistair's parentage a secret. When the young king comes to him with questions, Eamon is compelled to share the circumstances surrounding his birth - and the burden of knowing the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forgotten One

Eamon knocked on the open door again before stepping inside. He stopped just over the threshold. Alistair still hadn't noticed him. He was sitting behind the desk on the far side of the room, lost in thought, as he had been every day in the weeks since the final battle with the Archdemon. The Arl had suspected it would take time for the young king to adjust to the many recent changes in his life – the harsh realities of putting a country back together after a war, learning to navigate his way as king, reconciling the loss of the only person he counted as a close friend when the Grey Warden died killing the Archdemon. Eamon surmised it might all have been too much for him to bear at once, and so he'd stayed in Denerim, close but not hovering, ready to assist Alistair in any way he could.

His quiet presence had been largely ignored, except for the past few days when Alistair had withdrawn and the anxious staff had come to the Arl with their questions, their true leader sinking into the same melancholy that had haunted his father's eyes for years after Queen Rowan's death. It had been with no small amount of surprise that Arl Eamon agreed to Alistair's request to meet with him, though he had to wonder if that had been forgotten just as quickly as Alistair's duties to the Grey Wardens.

“Your Majesty?” The softly spoken words startled Alistair and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Please close the door.”  
An order from his king, though the words were polite. The tone behind them brooked no argument, spoken as they were in a gruff voice, as if Alistair had screamed about the unfairness of his new life to the Maker so often, his body still sang of it. Alistair stood from behind the desk and made his way across the room. Eamon closed the door and moved to stand in front of his king, this young man he'd helped raise. The weight loss had not gotten to the point where he'd worry, but the circles under Alistair's eyes spoke of sleepless nights and a world that expected too much, too soon. Still, he'd finally come to Eamon for help. That was a sign he wasn't nearly as stubborn as Maric had been. That was comforting knowledge.

“You asked for me, Your Majesty?”

Alistair gave him a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes. “No need to be so formal.”

“There is every need,” Eamon responded. “It is early days, yet. Some people still need to be reminded you are their rightful ruler.”

“Right.” Alistair gestured to chairs in front of the desk and they both sat. “As if anyone needs reminding that I killed their great commander and imprisoned Anora in a tower to seize the throne. I still hear the whispers when I walk by. If so many hadn't died during the war, I'd be worried about Anora's supporters storming the castle. I'm amazed more of Loghain's supporters haven't tried.”

“Loghain never had a reputation for being a kind man, but the atrocities we exposed at the Landsmeet—”

“Tarnished the legend of a former war hero.” Alistair shook his head. “I know it had to be done. Cailan had to be avenged and we needed to unite against the darkspawn, but some part of me wishes we could have done it differently.”

“You are like your father in that way,” Eamon said. “He never killed out of bloodlust, only out of necessity when all other options failed.” Eamon frowned. “He often let Loghain do the worst of what needed to be done, not because he couldn't lift the sword himself, but because the blood of every man and woman he killed remained on his hands. He once told me no amount of guilt could wash it off. But I suspect you didn't bring me here to talk about Loghain's ruthlessness. Have you finally decided what to do with Anora, then?”

Alistair shook his head. “She's stopped declaring she'll take the throne back every time I visit her in the tower, but I don't believe for a second she can be trusted. As long as there are people out there willing to help her fight, I can't take the chance of letting her go free. I've been in touch with the Vaels about making her a long-term guest of Starkhaven. We'll see.”

He stopped speaking and Alistair's shoulders slumped further before he locked eyes with Arl Eamon. “Tell me about my mother.”

Eamon coughed and dropped his eyes away from Alistair's before forcing himself to look up again. The tired expression in Alistair's eyes had changed to a steely glint as he focused on the Arl. “I'm sorry, what?”

“You knew her for years. She worked for you, or so you said.” Alistair leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he studied Eamon. “I've known you my whole life and when I was a child, I would've trusted you with anything, my life included.”

“Are you saying you no longer trust me?”

“I'm saying...I want to know my trust isn't misplaced. I am a child no longer. I deserve to hear the truth about her. All of it.” Alistair held up a hand before Eamon could speak. “Before you begin, you should know I've been in contact with Goldanna, her daughter. She answered a few questions I had, but raised a few more.” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an amulet. Eamon recognized it as the one piece of jewelry Lila had owned, painstakingly glued together after Alistair had thrown it against a wall, breaking it in a well-earned tantrum. He wondered briefly where the king had found it. If it hadn't been for the jealousy of his own wife, Eamon would never have had to repiece the keepsake – or send away the boy he'd come to care for as his own. Alistair hadn't deserved the treatment and Eamon had never forgiven himself for abandoning the boy. A few visits to the monastary hadn't made up for feeling unwanted by the one person he'd been raised to believe would always be on his side. Now, it seemed, Eamon might be able to to make up for his mistake.

“Who was she?” Alistair asked. He ran his finger over the raised flames engraved in the light metal. “If you have any respect for me at all as your king,” —he sighed— “as the man you once claimed to love as a son, you'll tell me the truth.”

The quiet resonance in the request did nothing to lighten the heaviness that settled over the Arl's chest. The words gnawed at him, thoughts of promises made long ago and rumors he'd let nearly destroy his own marriage warring with the pleading of the young king in front of him. But Alistair deserved answers. For his own peace of mind, and peace between himself and Arl Eamon, at last.

He cleared his throat and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. Alistair's eyes never left his face, searching for the answers that had eluded him since he was a child. Finally, Eamon made up his mind. Even a half truth wouldn't satisfy. He had to forget the promise he'd made to Maric and honor the one he'd made the man's son – unwavering loyalty to his king. And the respect he would've given him, were Alistair his son.

“King Maric did not tell me everything about your mother,” Eamon began. “From what he did say, and from what I gathered from Loghain and Duncan, I have a fairly clear picture of who she was.”

Alistair blinked in confusion. “Duncan and Loghain knew my mother? I thought she worked for you in Redcliffe.”

“That was a lie,” Eamon confirmed. “Your mother's idea. She didn't want you to know the truth about her for her own reasons. As much for your protection as hers. But the full truth is more complex than that.”

“Go on.”

“It all began with a group of Grey Wardens who had traveled with your father into the Deep Roads....”

***

“This is a foolish delay,” Loghain said.

After over a day of stony silence, Maric was surprised Loghain bothered speaking to him at all, especially after Maric had insisted they detour so he could spend a few days at Redcliffe castle. The truth was, Maric had wanted to see a little more of the countryside he'd long since neglected as much as speak with his brother-in-law in person. At least it would give him a few scant days to relax and process everything that had happened before going home to his son, to take up the reigns of his kingdom again. He felt he deserved that much. Maker only knew when he'd get time to think about something other than his duties once he got back.

Rather than argue with Loghain about the merits of his trip, Maric spurred his horse a little faster. It was late morning. The sun glittered off the surface of Lake Calenhad with the brilliance of a field of diamonds. Soon, the turrets of the castle came into view. Maric took the opening off the highway and approached the castle gates, slowing so Loghain and his men could catch up. The gates were opened and Maric and his escorts went inside the courtyard. Arl Eamon came to the door to greet them.

“Your Majesty, you honor me with your presence,” Eamon said. “I apologize if you sent a letter ahead and I did not receive it. I did not expect a visit.”

“You're not the only one,” Loghain muttered under his breath.

Maric ignored him and dismounted. At least Arl Eamon looked genuinely happy to see him, he thought as he mounted the stairs to the castle. That would make the next few days marginally more bearable.

***

“Quite an elaborate trap,” Eamon said after Maric finished his tale. “You're lucky to have survived at all.”

Maric pointedly chose to ignore the clang of silverware on a plate as Loghain snorted loudly and reached for his wine. The man had a way of making his disdain clear, even from the far side of a table. Maric made a promise to himself to address Loghain's attitude the next time they had a moment alone. Friend or not, the insolence was out of place and had gone on long enough.

“Those of us who survived fought with everything we had,” Maric said. “But knowing what I know now, it had to be done. There's still a threat out there, but I'll let the Grey Wardens handle it from here on out.”

“Here? In Ferelden?”

Maric nodded. “I'm allowing them back into the country. As soon as I find something suitable, I'll allot them lands. They saved my life and will continue to save the lives of many people, even if they'll never be recognized for the true measure of their sacrifice. I let them know I won't forget it, Ferelden won't forget it.”

Eamon nodded, but added nothing, though Maric could tell there was something on his mind. “Is there anything you'd wish my help with?”

Maric stopped playing with the last bits of food on his plate and pushed it away. “Not at present. I just came here to rest for a few days before heading back to Denerim. There is a lot I need to handle personally. I've been letting someone else do my duty for far too long.” Maric didn't have to turn to read Loghain's reaction to that. The silence from his end of the table said everything. When Loghain returned to his meal, Maric stood from the table. “If you'll excuse me, Eamon, I need to retire for the night.”

Eamon nodded. “I'll send maids up with the tub and bathwater for you.”

Maric shook his head. “A small washtub with a little hot water will do me fine. I'm too exhausted to wait for anything more elaborate than that.”

“Very well.”

Maric exited the dining room and quickly slipped up the dark stairwell to the main hall before Loghain could leave the table and follow him. It was one thing for the man to follow him from room to room as if Maric would try to escape his watchful company at any minute, it would be quite another for him to personally stand guard outside Maric's chamber while the king waited for his bathwater. Maric just needed time and space to breathe. He supposed as king, even that might be too much to ask.

He hadn't waited long before a knock on the door was followed by two servants carrying in the small wash tub and metal stand. A woman came up a few minutes later and poured boiling water into the basin. She pulled a bar of soap and two small towels out of her apron pocket and placed them on the stand next to the basin. Maric undressed next to the bed, discarding the clothes Eamon had provided in an untidy pile on the floor. The servant turned to him then coughed. Maric caught her quick, “Oh my,” before she cast her eyes down.

Maric forced down an automatic smile. He hadn't meant to make her blush, but he was close to passing out from exhaustion. The faster he got all this over with, the better. The servant grabbed the stack of clothes from the floor, curtsied to him, picked up her water pot and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

The maid stood a few steps from the door, frozen in place. Then she turned and curtsied again. Her eyes remained on the bundle of clothes in her hands. “Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?”

Maric stuck a finger into the steaming water in the basin. Perfect.

“I need you to ensure I am not disturbed in the morning. I'll skip breakfast in favor of sleep.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“What is your name?”

She looked up quickly, surprise widening her dark brown eyes. “Lila, my lord.”

Maric nodded. “Thank you, Lila.”

She curtsied again and walked from the room quickly, closing the door behind her. With some of the filth of the road still on him, Maric wondered if he looked much like a king to the soft-spoken servant. Not that it mattered. Once he got back to Denerim, he doubted anyone would ever let him forget he was king again.

***

Morning came far too soon. Maric had barely registered the knock on the door when Lila entered the room bearing a heavy tray of food. She placed it on a table before motioning for servants to remove the basin of dirty water and replace Maric's chamber pot with an empty one. Another brought in a clean stack of clothes for him and placed it on a chair near the bed. Before Maric could say anything, Lila opened the curtains on the far side of the room, flooding the chamber with bright midday sunlight. Maric swallowed the protest he'd been about to make. He was lucky Loghain had let him sleep this late into the day, never mind Eamon wondering if his guest would make an appearance.

“Would you like anything else, Your Majesty?”

Maric grimaced and swung his feet out of the bed. Lila turned away quickly and began fiddling with the dishes on the tray. 

“I don't suppose you brought tea.” He walked to the stack of clothes and dressed.

Lila poured him a cup and brought it to him. “I informed the Arl you did not wish to be disturbed, but he insisted we prepare a meal for you.”

Maric glanced at the tray. There was enough food for three people, including a full plate of cookies and small cakes. At least he wouldn't be sleepy for much longer.

“It's fine, Lila.” He took a sip of the tea. Dark and strong with very little sugar, exactly the way he had it prepared at home. “Your accent is unusual. Where are you from?”

Lila smiled before straightening her expression and casting her eyes down. “My family was living in Rivain when I was born, but I spent a number of my younger years in Kirkwall.”

Maric eyed the maid. She had dark brown eyes and thick, curly black hair pulled away from her face, but her skin was pale as milk. “You're not Rivaini, though?”

“No, Your Majesty. My father was Fereldan and my mother's family is from Kirkwall. My parents moved to Rivain before I was born because it was the only place my father could find work.” She shrugged. “Perhaps not the only place, but he did not like living here during the occupation. We moved to Gwaren some years later out of necessity.”

Maric nodded. He'd heard dozens of stories like it in the years before he'd regained his family's throne. Fereldan families that had either given up and accepted the rule of Orlais or fled to begin a life somewhere else after the Rebel Queen had been murdered.

“Did your father move to Redcliffe with you?”

“N-no, Your Majesty.” Lily fiddled with the bottom of her apron. “He died of the wasting some years back, just before the Battle of River Dane. But we were living in Gwaren when you took over the village,” she continued. She smiled wistfully. “He said he'd been proud to fight by your side and he could tell then you would be a great king who would make the Orlesians pay for their years of tyranny.”

Maric found himself smiling at the sudden enthusiasm in her voice. She was obviously proud of her father and believed Maric every bit the heroic figure her father had fought for. 

“What was your father's name?”

“Alistair,” Lila said. “My mother says his name was a sign he was meant for great things; his name means 'defender of the people.'”

“And so he lived up to it.” Maric crossed the room and sat at the table. Lila refilled his tea and placed the plate before him.

“If there is nothing else, Your Majesty, the Arl wishes me to attend to other matters.”

Maric turned and graced her with his best smile. “I have benefitted greatly from your attentions, Lila. I'll make sure Arl Eamon knows of your dedicated service.”

“T-that would be most gracious of you, Your Majesty.”

“Tonight,” Maric began. “I would like you to make sure a full bath is prepared for me just after the evening meal. You'll attend to me yourself,” he said, not leaving room for argument. He gave her another smile, this one less innocent than the first. “I expect no less than your undivided attention. I trust you'll make sure your other duties are taken care of before you come to me.”

“I...yes, Your Majesty.”

Maric turned back to his food. After a few moments, he heard Lila leave, pulling the door closed behind her. A minute later, it opened again. “Did you forget something?” he asked.

“No, but I wonder if you've forgotten you have duties in the capital that must be addressed,” Loghain said. “Your Majesty,” he added as an afterthought.

Maric fought the urge to scream. What good would it do? He'd been letting Loghain speak to him as an errant child for years. Rebuking him for it now would go largely ignored unless he made a point of forcing the issue. “We're staying here for a few more days. I need rest. And so do your men, if the state of your horses after you tore across the countryside is any indication. I am going back,” he said, turning to face the man he once thought of as very like a brother. It had been a long time since Maric had felt that sentiment. He had no doubt Loghain felt the same. “In my own time. Do not push me further,” he said when Loghain opened his mouth to speak. The Teyrn stared at him a minute longer then left, muttering under his breath. Maric sighed. So much for a break. It would be a long trip back.

***

Her hands shook as she drew the cloth across the expanse of his shoulders. Lila didn't know if he could feel it, but she feared King Maric could sense something amiss. Something in the way her fingers lingered overmuch on his dampened skin. The way she grazed the blonde hair curled at his nape, unfurling it just so with the lightest of touches. He glanced at her briefly, those deep blue eyes seeing straight through her. She froze, wondering if now would be the time he'd push her away, tell her she'd misunderstood his words from before, or accept her unspoken invitation. Then he relaxed again and indicated she should wash his chest next.

This was a mistake. She knew that as surely as she knew she'd regret not telling the Arl everything the minute she'd left the king's room earlier that morning. As king, it was his right to have everything he wished. Or anyone. And Lila, by all rights, should refuse him. But, he was a beautiful man, and all thoughts of right and wrong and proper behavior had been reduced to annoying whispers when he'd locked her in place with those eyes and bade her come to him that night. She wouldn't dared have said no to that order, even if she'd wanted to. As it was, what she wanted was to lay with him and forget, for a few beautiful moments, who they both were and what this might mean. She wanted to experience pleasure with this man. Pleasure of the sort she had not known for so long, she scarcely remembered what it felt like. But that kind of pleasure came with a price. One Lila did not know if she was ready to pay.

She dipped the cloth into the water and ran it across Maric's chest in slow swipes. Scars and bruises mottled the once perfect skin. Most would heal in time, the rest were souvenirs of battles past that would remain with him for a time. She wished suddenly she could heal him, take away the scars that marred the expanse of smooth skin beneath her hands and cast a shadow into his gaze when he thought no one was looking. Lila wished, for a brief moment, that she could take the light from that charming smile of his and use it to erase whatever darkness lingered in his heart. If only it could be that simple.

She leaned over and began washing his stomach. He tensed beneath her touch, but said nothing as she stroked over him. Her fingers brushed—she recoiled and moved to wash his leg, reaching deep into the warm water to run her hand down the inside of his thigh. Maric clasped her wrist. Her eyes darted up to meet his. The gaze that held hers was no longer sleepy, languid, but calculating, enticing. Hungry. He guided her hand to where he wanted to feel her touch. Lila stroked him there, her eyes never leaving his. The blush tinting her cheeks surely betrayed her as much as the longing she knew was plain on her face. She licked her lips, drawing his gaze there. And then the king's mouth, light and teasing, sweet with brandy and promises. He withdrew and Lila knew a moment of regret before schooling her expression into the neutrality she'd been taught to assume in her work.

“Lila, do you know why I asked for you tonight?”

So polite and formal, this man she held in a strong grip under the water. His voice had only wavered on one word. Lila needed to do better.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lila smiled and increased the speed of her motions beneath the water. King Maric's mouth opened in a little gasp of surprise. He bucked into her hand. “You wished me to attend your needs. I hope my service pleases you.”

He didn't answer for a moment, instead closing his eyes and losing himself to the sensation. His hand on her wrist stopped the motion. He studied her, his gaze going over the curls falling from the tie at the back of her head, over her neck, down to the low dip of her bodice. “Would you do more?” he asked.

The low rumble of his voice started an ache deep inside her. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Maric rose from the tub. Lila moved back as he stepped out, candlelight glinting over his wet body. She allowed herself the luxury of looking at him, memorizing every inch of his perfection. 

“You may not feel you have a choice, because I am your king,” Maric said. “But you can say no and I will respect that choice. You will face no rebuke from me and I will speak of it to no one.”

Lila smiled and closed the distance between them. “I would not dare to refuse you, my king.”

***

The first time did not satisfy that ache. Nor the second. But, hours later, the third time continued slow and steady until they separated from one another, replete with exhaustion. Lila forced herself to stay awake, listening for the sound of Maric's breathing. When she was sure he was asleep, she slipped from the bed, got back into her dress—still wet from when he'd taken her against the wall—and attempted to pull her hair together. The candles had long since burned out, so she had no idea how much a mess she looked when she slipped out of his room.

She assumed she looked as worn as she felt. Arl Eamon's expression when he saw her from down the hall told her as much.

“Lila, is that—?” The Arl looked at the closed bedroom door and back at her. The sun was beginning to rise, filling the hall with faint light. Lila looked down and saw herself as the Arl did. Dress wrinkled, wet, the ties done sloppily in the dark. Her hair probably still looked as if she'd been tumbling in a bed for hours. Shoes in her hand as she'd hoped to make it to the servants quarters without drawing attention to herself. “To the library. Now.”

She marched down the hall ahead of the Arl, fright making her steps quick and unsure. Twice she stumbled and cursed herself for being a fool. More than that she wondered how she would support her family when she was let go from the Arl's service. There were few jobs in Redcliffe, fewer still that did not depend on the generosity of Arl Eamon. The closest estate where she might be able to find work as a servant was probably in Edgehall or West Hills, and that was only if they would accept a servant with a young daughter. One who'd been dismissed for the worst sort of behavior.

They were going to starve.

By the time she'd made into the library and the Arl closed the door behind them, Lila had resigned herself to her fate. She slipped her shoes on and stood before Arl Eamon, hands joined and eyes down, frantically trying to remember if she had any cousins who could take Goldanna, since her mother wouldn't be able to support the girl on her own meager wages.

“Tell me,” he said. 

His voice was not unkind, and Lila didn't know if it was his tone or the desperate nature of her situation finally settling on her, but the tears came swiftly and she swiped at them with both hands before gathering her words.

“I'm so sorry, my lord. He just—I didn't...I couldn't say no.”

“He forced you?” 

Lila looked up and the desperate lie came to her, as quick as her next sob. “Yes. I didn't know what would happen if I refused him.” Truth and lies mingled in her mind and she fought to remember how much she'd wanted him hours earlier, when reality hadn't threatened to turn her simple life into a nightmare with no end, hungry bellies turned out into the cold. It could not come to that. She would not let it. “I'm sorry,” she said again, meaning it this time. “With your leave, I will gather my belongings.”

The Arl's eyes widened on her and his shoulders dropped, his expression softening. “I will not dismiss you when you felt you had no choice in the matter. But, should it happen again....” He paused and the breath froze in Lila's chest waiting for the next words. “You will come to me and me alone if any of my guests makes unwanted advances in the future. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” The words came out in a dizzying rush and she curtsied to him just long enough to show him the proper respect before rising at his dimissing nod and rushing out of the room. She nearly ran over another servant on her way down the hall, but thankfully Lila ran into no one else before she reached her quarters. 

She collapsed on the single bed and began sobbing anew. If pressed, she would not be able to explain why, exactly, but something about the way the Arl had looked at her before she left turned what had been a beautiful night into an ugly time of shame and regret. Perhaps it was her own lie that did it, perverting what was into a convenient untruth that would save her the ultimate embarrassment. Still, Lila wished she could have confessed all and still hold the Arl's respect. Her biggest regret, then, was that she could neither tell the truth nor could she restore the faith he'd had in her. However, Lila refused to regret any of the time she'd spent in the king's bed. She only wished she could stop herself from wanting to be there again.

***

“Maric, if I may have a word in private.”

Maric paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, before putting it down and nodding. The homely woman who'd brought his food curtsied silently and left the room, closing the door behind her. Eamon stood there in silence for a few long moments and Maric took a few more bites of his meal before turning to his brother-in-law. “Something you want to discuss with me?”

“I would like to know when you began the habit of sleeping with servants. I dare say my sister would not have approved.”

Maric only just managed to swallow his food. So much for getting away with one small indulgence. That would explain why his meal had been sent by a motherly matron who'd only sniffed disapprovingly and turned away when he got out of bed naked. “I wouldn't go so far as to call it a habit.”

“What do you call it when I catch my barely dressed maid coming out of your room at sunrise?”

A very good night. Maric paused, visions of a rosy pink nipple in his mouth and a wet cunt squeezing tight momentarily distracting him. He cleared his throat and willed his body to forget about the silkiness of her skin and the sound of her moaning his name until a more convenient time.

Maric gave him a searching look. “Do you understand nothing of passing fancies? What about Isolde? Her father was ruling in your place and yet you still managed to—”

“I managed nothing,” Eamon said, interrupting. “She was infatuated with me and I tolerated her until I was able to get my lands and title back. She was useful as a spy. Don't confuse that with affection. That matter is long past.”

“Truly,” Maric said, his voice soft. “Then I suppose you don't care to know she's living in Denerim.”

“She is?” Eamon cleared his throat and turned away from Maric, but not before the king saw the brief look of hope brighten his features.

“And she asked the Arl of Denerim about you a few weeks ago,” Maric stated. “He brought the matter to me because he was concerned she was spying for Orlais. There was an investigation. To my knowledge, her only interest at this time is...you.”

Eamon frowned and crossed his arms. “You're very skilled at changing the subject, but I have not forgotten your behavior here.”

“Fine,” Maric matched his frown. “You have my sincerest apology for taking advantage of your servant. It may have been a mistake, though hardly the only one I've made recently.”

“Another maid?”

Maric shook his head. “I won't tell you more about her unless....”

“Unless what?”

“I asked her to come to Denerim and she refused me. If she changes her mind...” Maric shrugged and let Eamon fill in the blanks. “I care for her a great deal.” He paused, considering. “I know this can't be easy to hear.”

“Easy, no. But my sister has been gone for nearly two years,” Eamon said. “No one expects you to be alone forever, least of all myself or Teagan. I have often wondered what you got up to in the capital. Have there been many?”

“Women? No.” Maric supposed he should be offended Eamon had asked, but the two had never minced words with one another. Eamon reminded him of Rowan that way. He liked the brash honesty of their relationship, more so than the harsher rebukes he'd receive from Loghain. “Just Fiona...and now Lila.”

“You've scarcely been here two days. Don't tell me you've fallen for her as well.”

“No. She seemed nice enough when I spoke to her. Capable of being discreet.” Maric stared at his hands. “I could tell she was attracted to me, so...” He let the words trail off, hoping Eamon wouldn't ask him to elaborate. “For the record, I am not as callous as all that. I made the first move, but I told her she could refuse me without consequence.”

“As if those words have meaning, _Your Majesty_.”

Maric frowned. He knew Eamon was right, but it still rankled to have the logic thrown in his face. “I'm sorry. I know you don't welcome the guests in your home taking advantage of your servants, no matter their station. But don't punish her for acting on a mutual desire. As you implied, I didn't give her a real choice.”

“As you say.” Eamon cleared his throat. “Consider the matter forgotten.”

***

“When were you going to tell me?”

Lila's hands dropped away from the swell of her belly and she turned to face her mother. She'd let herself forget how sharp Ana's eyes were, a mistake on Lila's part. Another was not taking the potion the suspicious merchant had offered her as solution to her current problem. Lila couldn't bring herself to kill the king's baby any more than she could bring herself to tell the Arl of her situation when she'd first become aware. It was getting harder to hide her condition behind layers of dresses and bulky aprons. She'd come to her mother's house in Redcliffe in search of some new design that would be able to hide the baby another couple of months, until she'd have no choice but to confess. Instead, she'd found herself staring at the evidence of her fall from grace, closing her eyes as the little one kicked, allowing herself to be caught unawares when her mother returned from the morning Chantry service.

“Where is Goldanna?” Lila asked. “I've barely seen my daughter the last few weeks.”

“You've scarcely left the castle,” her mother replied. “Even on your days off. At least now I know why.”

“I didn't think it warranted a discussion.”

The ungraceful snort from her mother hit Lila like a punch in the gut. Lying was a disservice to them both and she knew it. No one deserved to know of her condition more, since her mother would be the one forced to care for the babe while she worked in the castle.

“I've never known you to be this selfish before. There must be a reason. Who is he?”

Another hit, this one somewhere in the region of her heart. “Selfish? It's been ten years since Garrick died at West Hill! Don't I deserve some measure of happiness after all this time?”

“Happiness, yes. A bastard child who will bring shame upon this family, no.” Her mother's eyes narrowed. “Who is the father? Do you even know?”

“I am not a whore, mother. Of course I know. As long as I can provide for this child, the father is not important.”

Ana crossed the room in long strides and gripped her daughter's shoulders tight. “Is it the Arl? Is this why you've said nothing?”

“I...no.” Lila couldn't force herself to meet her mother's gaze. “The Arl has been very kind to me, but he would never take a servant as a lover.” Lila took a deep breath and whispered the truth she'd been hiding from her mother.

Ana's hands dropped away. “You're lying.” When Lila said nothing, she added, “Who else have you told this? Does the Arl know? What did you tell him?”

“That the king forced himself on me!” Lila shouted, the lie coming as easily as it had in the Arl's library. The tears followed just as easily, making the whole of her story that much more believeable. “I am to have his baby and no one is to know the truth of it. You must tell no one.”

A strangled cry from the doorway captured both their attention. Goldanna stood in the doorway, tears brightening her eyes, before she turned and ran from the room. Lila moved to go after her. Ana stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Mother, I need to speak with her. She's only twelve. She doesn't understand any of this.”

“I will go to her,” Ana said. “I think it's best if you return to the castle. Send word when you would like me to come get the child.”

Lila watched her mother walk from the room, and willed her tears to stop. Just like that, she was dismissed and forgotten, another mark of shame that she couldn't wash off branded across her skin. She gathered the piles of fabric from her mother's basket and tied them in a bundle. She would spend the rest of her day off at Redcliffe castle, making a dress more suited to a woman who wasn't ashamed of her condition.

***

The whispers started the minute she walked through the servant's entrance. Lila was scarcely past the kitchens when she heard the giggles of a couple of maids behind her. She hadn't bothered with the voluminous layers when she'd come back, reasoning that she ought to get used to the shame her presence would inspire as soon as possible before the baby arrived. What Lila did not expect was the Arl himself in her quarters not an hour later, staring at her as she worked on a new dress. She tried not to betray how nervous she was as she put aside her work and faced him.

She met his eyes, her own gaze unwavering. “I do not know if he would wish to know, but I have told no one.”

Arl Eamon nodded. “Do you wish to remain here?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will make arrangements for a midwife when the time comes.” He opened his mouth as if to add something else then nodded curtly and left.  
Lila felt the tension ease from her shoulders. He'd left her door open and the whispers carried to her, echoing down the long corridor. With a measure of will, she forced herself to stop caring. In a few months, even those constant reminders of her shame would pass.

***

_Your Majesty,_

_I considered not writing this letter. Indeed, perhaps it would be best if I had chosen to remain silent. Out of respect for you, I concluded any decisions would be best left in your hands. Lila is with child, and by my estimate, you have but a few short weeks to decide if you would like to take possession of this child or take measures to make sure no one knows of its existence. I will respect your decision either way._

_Arl Eamon_

Maric had lost track of how many times he'd read the letter in the past few weeks. The parchment was showing signs of wear in the creases, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to write back except to thank Eamon for the information. He knew that fell short of a real effort, but it had never occurred to him that his one night with Lila would result in such complications. 

Complications. Such a simplistic word for something that might devastate his entire life, should he let it. Add to that the letter he'd gotten from Duncan about his impending visit with Fiona and Maric could scarcely focus on anything more pressing than day to day plans. His first step had been sending Loghain back to Gwaren for a few weeks. He wouldn't be back for a month, at the very least. His next was arranging for Duncan and Fiona to come to the castle that night, out of sight of most of his servants, lest Maric have to deal with Loghain's displeasure once word reached him of the Grey Wardens' visit.

After that, Maric was lost as to what needed to be done.

Should he give serious consideration to bringing his bastard child to live with him in Denerim, to be raised alongside Cailan? If people hadn't thought he'd lost his mind after Rowan died, surely that action alone would cement the impression of their king. And how many people would be hurt by that decision? Maric couldn't think only of himself, not anymore. He had to consider that Lila might actually want to keep the baby, as she hadn't asked the Arl to notify him sooner. He had to think of how Rowan's brothers would react to the news he was raising another child next to their nephew, effectively making this child his other heir. Eamon hadn't said as much, but it must have pained him to learn of the child's existence. At least he'd known it was a possibility. Teagan would be blindsided with the information, should it become widely known.

There was no easy way to make the decision. He had to speak with Lila and go from there. Maric had arranged to go to Redcliffe in the morning, though he knew it would pain him to leave Cailan again so soon. The boy had clung to him night and day for weeks after his last trip and Maric didn't like feeling like he was abandoning his son. It had taken a lot more than wanting to be there for Maric to be fully present mentally, but he had gotten to that place after a time.

His chamberlain came in and announced the two Grey Wardens. Maric pointedly ignored the suspicion in the man's voice. He'd been ordered not to report Maric's activities back to Loghain, but the king had no way of putting the man's loyalty to the test, save for pulling him into this awkward situation. At least this meeting would be kept from the majority of the people working in the castle. That would limit the likelihood of rumors spreading.

Fiona and Duncan entered the dark throne room and Maric had to force himself not to run across the room to her. She looked different. Tired. Pale. But still beautiful, he noted as she pulled back the hood of her red cloak. He was surprised how much he wanted her, after all this time. He'd thought the yearning would fade when he hadn't heard from her in the months since they'd last seen in each other at the Circle Tower, but even knowing she was coming with Duncan had brought it all back to him in a rush, along with guilt for indulging himself with Lila when the only woman he'd wanted had walked away. Maric allowed himself to step down from the throne and approach her. It was unfortunate a king didn't beg, or maybe Fiona could be persuaded to stay this time. Though, by the pitying look she gave him as he approached, Maric doubted even pouring out his heart would have the desired affect.

An hour later and Maric couldn't decide if his heart was more full or breaking all over again. It was amazing how one's life could change in so short a time and yet here was the evidence of it, asleep in his arms. A baby boy who looked so much like Cailan, and who showed no trace of his mother's elven blood. It had pained him, but he'd promised Fiona he wouldn't keep the boy or raise him to be heir to the throne. Even she could see it was no life for the son of an elven mage, whether people knew where he'd come from or not.

Maric wasn't sure of the likelihood, but even the possibility that their son could turn out to be a mage as well threatened his hold on the throne. He couldn't see himself raising the boy for years and then turning him over to be raised by a group of mages on the other side of Fereldan. It wouldn't be possible for the king's son, illegitimate or not, to survive that life with any sense of stability. And all that was assuming anyone accepted the boy as his heir without knowing a thing about his mother. There were enough threats to Maric's power, real and imagined, that adding an elf-blooded son to the mix might prove the breaking point for the nobles who supported him.

So he had to give him up, as he had Fiona. And Katriel before her. And any chance that a small measure of happiness could be added to the life he dedicated to his country. After all, could he ever truly be happy knowing someone else was raising his son and that the child would never know of him, save for stories? That was the promise he'd made, to be out of his son's life forever. Before he could rethink it, Maric ordered his chamberlain to prepare a carriage for his trip and to find a nurse to care for the baby on the way. This might be the only time he got to spend with his son, and he wouldn't do it hiding in his castle in Denerim.

***

Arl Eamon had just finished composing his letter to Maric when the servant came to his study and announced the king's arrival. It was just as well. This one had been infinitely harder to write than the first and he still didn't feel right conveying the information through a messenger. Better to tell the king the truth in person. If he was being honest with himself, Eamon preferred it that way. He'd done his best to remain practical about the situation with Lila from the beginning, but Eamon wanted to look into Maric's eyes and read the truth of his feelings when he learned the fate of the woman and her child. Would he be as casual about the end of the affair as he had about the beginning or would it change him irrevocably, as the death of his queen had nearly three years previous?

Eamon shook his head to clear it and asked that Maric be brought to him immediately. When Maric arrived, he found himself at a loss for words. The king paced around the room, barely acknowledging the Arl's presence before folding his arms and walking about the room as a man possessed. He paused, opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and paced again.

“Your Majesty.”

Maric shook his head. “Always with the formality, Eamon. One would think we hadn't known each other since we were children.”

But did they really know each other anymore? Eamon wondered, not for the first time, if the king even knew himself anymore. That was a discussion best saved for another time.

“I have news,” Eamon said. The king paused mid-stride and turned to him. “It's best if you sit.”

“I have news as well,” Maric said. “And I doubt you'll want me in your home any longer once you hear it, and what I've come to ask you.”

“I doubt there's much you could say that would force me to turn you out of my home,” Eamon said. He dismissed the possibility of Maric pursuing the company of a servant in his castle in Denerim. Even Maric wouldn't be that careless.

“You'd be surprised,” Maric said. “The last few months, I've wondered if I'm worthy of anyone's hospitality. I've been so lost without her.” The sadness when he mentioned Rowan was sharp and acute and Eamon saw the reflection of his feelings in the king's eyes. “I thought I'd finally found a way to be happy again and then she walked away. And then you told me of another child and I thought, either the Maker has a sense of humor or he's finally decided to have mercy on a broken man. Except I don't know that a bastard child by a servant is in any way a mercy so much as another reminder of my mistakes, a sign of the man I am instead of the man I should be.”

He turned to Eamon and the other man was startled to see the tears in his eyes. “Be honest with me, Eamon. If I was not your family, if I was just the son of the Rebel Queen, my only claim being of Theirin blood, would you respect me as your king? Am I true leader of men or am I pretender with the right blood who happened to lead the rebellion? 

“For years, I felt that Rowan and Loghain had been my support, but now I wonder if they were the true leaders and I am just a figurehead Loghain guides in the right direction. The things I've done, the man I've become, is this really what Ferelden needs of its king? Is this the man Cailan should look to as guide? Is there...is there hope after all this?” He gestured with one arm, encompassing the whole of himself and, seemingly, the country surrounding him.

Eamon was silent for a long moment. “Maric, there are no easy answers. That's the biggest obstacle you face. There are never going to be easy solutions for you, as there is never going to be a time when you are not plagued by these doubts. Only a fool would feel he is a good and perfect king all the time and deserves to rule. And you are no fool. You are a man, and as such, prone to the mistakes of all men. What makes you a true leader is not letting your weaknesses as a man dictate how you govern your people. Ferelden comes first, however much pain that causes you. Your willingness to admit you are not without fault and to do your utmost in sight of that is what makes you a good man, one people would follow into the void, if need be. Those two traits together are what make you a fair and just king, one worthy of people's respect, as you have always had mine. You are not perfect, infallible, but you see the folly of man for what it is – a chance to be better than we once were, to continue pushing to be the men we can be.”

“What if I never become the man I can be?” Maric asked.

“I think you are a far more capable man and king than you give yourself credit, but it's up to you to decide when you've become everything the world needs of you. You are the only one who can decide when to push away doubts and simply be who you are, however the world may receive you.”

Maric sat heavily in the chair before Eamon's desk and leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. Before he could stop himself, Eamon crossed the room and put an arm around his king, silently lending his strength before dealing what he knew would be a devastating blow.

After a few minutes, Maric cleared his throat and pushed Eamon away. The Arl took the chair next to his. “You had something to tell me?”

Eamon nodded. “I wish there was a way I could soften this for you, but there are no other words for it.”

“Is this about Lila?” Pain and fear flashed through Maric's eyes before he hid them behind a well-practiced mask, a blank expression Eamon had not seen for quite a while. He wondered briefly if the king's stony demeanor would crack once he heard the news.

Arl Eamon nodded. “Yesterday morning, she was found in the chantry upstairs. No one knows for sure how long she'd been there alone, but the chantry priest tells me they don't think she suffered long.”

“And the baby?” Maric's voice was so soft, Eamon could barely make out the words, as if the king knew what he was going to say before the truth was spoken.

“He died either during or just after the birth. Lila's mother agreed to let me make the arrangements and we held a service for them in the village yesterday.”

“Her mother lives in Redcliffe?”

“Along with her daughter,” Eamon confirmed.

“She never mentioned—” Maric cut himself off.

It was just as well. Eamon imagined Lila had shared very little of the realities of her life when she'd taken to the king's bed. He supposed that had made their little affair easier for both of them. Maric, who admitted he had been trying to forget another woman and Lila, who had no hope of anything beyond their brief coupling.

“I want to do something for them,” Maric said. “Can you arrange for someone to send them gold on my behalf, without letting them know it's from me?”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I think that would make things easier on her mother. I understand she's a washerwoman. Would you like to do anything else?”

“Besides take back the night I ruined her life?” Maric gave him a bitter smile. “I think I've done enough. It is a wonder you continue to respect me after all I've done.” Maric held up a hand to stop Eamon's protest. “I know, I'm allowed to make mistakes. And I must learn to forgive myself if I expect anyone else to. Rowan taught me that. I can only imagine she'd be disappointed to see the man I've become. And heartbroken to hear what I'm about to ask of you.”

“My sister loved you for most of her life,” Eamon said. “In time, I think she would've forgiven you anything.”

Maric nodded sadly and his mask slipped just enough for Eamon to feel the raw pain there before he pulled it back into place. “I regret the times I had to put that to the test. I only hope you are capable of the same.”

***

“Your father brought you to Redcliffe on a whim,” Eamon said. Alistair was silent, taking in the information with the same stony expression Maric had assumed when he'd learned of Lila's fate. “He knew he couldn't raise you and trusted no one else to raise you the way he would have were he not king. More than anything, I think your father wanted to be a man like any other, without all the responsibilities that came with the life he'd been born to.

“You are more like him than I can ever convey with mere words. Your very presence, the way you've lead the people – I can feel how much the burden of power weighs on you and yet you do what you must. Your father would recognize himself in you as if he were looking into a mirror.”

“And yet he didn't want me to be king,” Alistair stated. “Neither did my mother.”

“Neither of them wanted you to be as unhappy as Maric was in that position. I struggled with whether or not to push your claim to the throne myself, but Cailan did not deserve his fate and allowing his murderer to take the throne would have been little in the way of justice.”

Alistair fingered the amulet and held it up to the light. “And this?”

“Belonged to Lila,” Eamon said. “She had the chain wrapped around her hand as she held her son. When I told your father, he asked that you be raised as if you were hers. He even named you after her father as a way of honoring Lila and the son they'd lost.”

“My brother,” Alistair said, tightening his grip on the chain. “That explains why Goldanna had been told her mother and the baby had died. I thought maybe you had done it to keep anyone from knowing the king had a bastard son, but to think he was hiding a much bigger secret, I can't imagine how he did it.”

“Do not think he acted rashly,” Eamon said. “He loved you and it pained him that he couldn't raise you. He even made a point of telling Cailan about you when he was old enough to understand, because he thought one day he might be able to introduce you, even though he'd promised your mother you would never be his heir.”

“So, Cailan knew about me? Anora said as much, but after the way Loghain acted, I thought surely she had been mistaken.”

“Maric told Loghain about you once I had taken you in. Cailan told Anora after they were married, in case something happened to him in battle. Loghain's refusal to acknowledge your claim was more his fear of he and his daughter losing power than any real doubts of your parentage.”

“And my mother? My real mother,” Alistair began, “Is she still alive?”

“I have no way of knowing,” Eamon stated. “The only people who knew her identity were your father, Loghain and Duncan. Maric would tell me nothing about her, save that she was a Grey Warden and couldn't raise you.”

“I never thought I'd regret killling Loghain.” Alistair sighed. “For the most part, I still don't. But I need to know the rest of it. I suppose there are records. Surely, the Grey Wardens have reports detailing an expedition with the Fereldan king.”

“Then you have a place to start, if you still want to find her.”

“Why wouldn't I want to find her?”

“She loved you enough to give you up, to allow you a chance at happiness she didn't feel she or your father could provide you. She could have left the Grey Wardens, as you did, to give you that chance. Surely you must realize she had her reasons for not making that choice.”

“She pushed me away because she didn't think her raising me was the best decision, but _why_? What could have been so—?” Alistair paused, his thoughts racing over the possibilities. “But my father would never have been with...or would he?” He frowned and looked down at the amulet in his hand. A stark reminder that his father didn't limit himself to women who would have been appropriate to his station. “I have to think about this. Persuing it could have consequences.”

“I trust you'll make the right decision, Your Majesty,” Eamon stated. “You are very much the man your father was, and in that, the hard decisions are yours alone, but you'll do what's best for everyone. Your honor as a man and king relies on it.”


End file.
